


I'll fight your fight, I'll hold you tight

by goldkirk



Series: Shutterbug [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (of the elementary schooler variety), Accidental Baby Acquisition, Broken Bones, Bruce is in his lower 20s and he has no idea about kids but he's doing his best, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick's not the best about stranger danger yet which gives Bruce So Much Stress daily, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Unstoppable Force (Dick's deeply touch-based love language), and his best is gonna be enough, denial ain't just a river and it's a good thing Bruce WENT TO THERAPY IN THIS UNIVERSE, did someone say broken-hearted kids building a FOUND FAMILY, get this boy hugs and a Zitka the elephant plushie, gratuitous consumption of mint chocolate chip ice cream, thank god for Alfred, vs. Immovable Object (Dick's massive emotional denial of his grief and loss)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkirk/pseuds/goldkirk
Summary: Dick Grayson is the most affectionate and physical child in the world, except for when heisn't.Bruce notices.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Shutterbug [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575793
Comments: 40
Kudos: 763





	I'll fight your fight, I'll hold you tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeautyGraceOuterSpace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyGraceOuterSpace/gifts).



> Anon on tumblr asked for headcanons about how Bruce knows Dick needs some affection. This happened by complete accident in the span of about fifteen minutes, and now I'm considering a second chapter too. Because we can't just let adult Dick not get hugged too, right?

When Dick first moves into the manor, he’s a little cautious about it. He’s curious, and high-energy, and kind of a literal baby kangaroo with a better sense of humor, but this is also a MANSION and he’s spent his life growing up in a circus and there’s a lot of unspoken rules about the new place and life he doesn’t know yet. So he’s kind of cautious about everything, including his interactions with Bruce and Alfred. Not cold, or distant, but just…feeling things out. Dick doesn’t know where the boundaries are yet, and they don’t know how to read Dick well yet. So there’s a give and take as they weave around each other and slowly learn. 

During this time, Dick obviously has a LOT of big feelings, because he’s a kid and a lot has changed and he’s still grieving and also BATMAN? And he gets a lot of them out through movement, he’s constantly working out, exploring, wiggling out his stress and thoughts and everything. But it only goes so far, and Dick gets Sad sometimes, a lot of the time, and he just wants his parents back, he wants their hugs and their talks and his mom’s soup and their so-bad-it’s-delicious gas station chili-in-a-chip-bag. He knows they’re never coming back, but it doesn’t make the parent-shaped hole in his life any smaller or hurt any less. He knows Bruce says he gets it, and he appreciates the efforts to make him comfortable, but Bruce is still a stranger, mostly. And Dick is affectionate and open, but…it hurts. It’s not so easy to share when he doesn’t know how to even describe his feelings in the first place. So he mostly holds it all close and tries to be as happy-go-lucky as he can and distract the concern by never not being in motion. If he’s constantly busy, then there’s no time for the bad feelings, right? And he’s okay. He gives hugs freely, and laughs an appropriate amount, and most of the time he keeps himself focused on enough good things to drown out the bad.

Then he breaks his wrist falling out of one of the manor's many, many truly fantastic climbing trees.

* * *

Bruce panics so much that Dick honestly stops being upset and just starts laughing at Bruce’s reaction, because honestly, he’s _Batman_ and Dick is Robin and they’ve fought criminals and nearly died a _billion times,_ probably, and _this_ is what makes Bruce lose it?

Alfred gets Bruce sorted out with some logic, along the _Master Dick is a young boy and clearly uninjured beyond his arm, and it is perfectly normal for children to fall from trees and break bones, calm down you ball of anxiety in an Armani suit, you’re worse than first-time parents of a newborn with a cold_ lines. They go to the hospital, Dick gets some painkillers and his arm set and casted by a doctor who makes just. The _worst_ puns, bless his _heart,_ and they’re home safe and sound a few hours later. And that’s where it finally starts to unravel. 

The medicine starts to wear off, which is okay, Dick’s used to injuries here and there. And he’s still able to take ibuprofen and stuff. He’ll be fine.

But he forgot about the missing-them pain, the black hole in the middle of his chest, he forgot about the way his bones ache to be squeezed by a hug from his dad and the way he just wants his mom to hold him curled up close after a long day of rehearsals and let him doze against her side. The way if he pauses in one spot for too long, the back of his eyes start to burn. The way sometimes before he falls asleep at night, it feels like all the air is gone from the world. 

Bruce and Alfred set him up on one of the sofas in the coziest lounge with about a million and one pillows, and Dick is _tired_ , and his arm honestly _really_ aches now, that throbbing, clenching kind of pain that doesn’t really fully let up even for a moment. And he’s starting to feel like a threadbare dish towel that’s been used to scrub one too many dirty plates, and then Bruce turns around to ask him what movie he’d like to watch, and Dick can’t answer. 

Bruce frowns slightly, reaches out for Dick’s forehead, and for the first time since Dick has moved in with them, he flinches away. Bruce’s arm stops mid-gesture, and Dick is kicking himself mentally, because he _wants_ that, he wants someone to touch him and hold him and his arm hurts and his chest hurts and he wants a _break_ and he’s so, so tired of being strong like his parents would want, and he wants his dad to laugh one more time, and pull him in tight for a moment till his spine creaks, and tell him _it’ll be okay_ and Dick _wants_. _His_. _Mom_.

Dick’s cramming himself into the corner of the sofa now, trying so desperately to get control of his hitching breaths, trying to say _I want Road to El Dorado, please and thanks,_ trying to tell Bruce he’s sorry, _here, you can check me, I don’t really mind._ But as the first tear wells up in a corner of an eye and Bruce watches him so carefully in that one way that makes Dick feel like there’s an ocean inside Bruce that he’s maybe never going to understand, but is maybe the thing that keeps Bruce more solid than any other person Dick’s ever met, Dick shudders. Just once. 

_“Dick,”_ Bruce says, quietly. “Oh, buddy.”

Dick looks at him and starts to cry. It feels like he’s splitting open along seams he didn’t know he had. He wants to be held. He doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t know what Bruce is okay with. He doesn’t know what _he’s_ okay with, either, and he just wants his mom and dad, but they’re _gone_ , and they’re _never coming back._

Dick can’t run away anymore. No more flips. No more motion. He’s not a flying Grayson right now. He’s just Dick, just a kid with no parents, sitting on a sofa in a giant mansion with someone he only met a few months ago, and he wants to hear _I love you, baby boy, my little robin,_ one more time from voices that are never going to speak again.

Bruce stands there for a few seconds, one arm still stretched halfway out, and Dick sees something warring in his face, conflict and maybe some longing and a large wave of hurt before Bruce takes a breath and all Dick can see smooths over into calm focus. 

Bruce squats down in front of the tiny, trembling ball of young boy, moving slowly like he does with crime victims on bad nights, and Dick _hates_ him for it, and also appreciates every second of the gentle care in Bruce’s movement. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Bruce asks, and. 

This is the first time it’s been Bruce wanting to initiate instead of Dick. Because Bruce has never had to ask until now. Dick is so tactile, he’s so free and open with his affection, at home and at school and at the grocery store and the playground. Dick speaks the language of bodies, he high-fives and hugs and shoulder-pats his way through every day, and Bruce and Alfred thought he was just well-adjusted and in denial a little, but didn’t want to push. And Bruce supposes that today was that push, apparently, because never once has Dick ever shied away from a touch. 

Not even on that night, not even after he saw his parents’ hands connect, hand to wrist, hand to wrist, fingers so familiar they’d know each other in the dark and a thousand worlds beyond this one, and watched that not be enough to save them. Watched his world shatter. Dick watched his life fall apart and not once that night did he lean away from any arms, from the hands of the police, from Bruce wrapping him carefully in his sportcoat, from Bruce carrying him half-asleep from the car into the manor and helping him into the too-sweatpants and t-shirt quickly purchased from a 24-hour drug store miscellaneous items aisle. 

But today Dick flinched. Today Dick held himself back, and he’s crying for the first time, and Bruce knows it’s important, it’s healthy, that Dick had to break sometime, but it doesn’t hurt any less to watch. He remembers being this child, he still is this child some days. He wakes up and forgets, just for a second, before it all comes back, and it’s worse to forget and remember than to walk through his weeks never being able to forget at all. 

“Dick,” Bruce whispers, holding his arms out but not touching. And Dick looks for a moment, something haunted in his eyes and his whole body as taught as a tightrope that feels so much like home to him, and it’s not his parents. It’s not. It never will be again. But he can’t keep wanting like this, he’s going to be torn in half by the force of it, and he just wants things to be all right. 

Dick leans forward, just an inch or so, and makes a little noise in the back of his throat. He doesn’t know what it was maybe trying to say, but Bruce seems to understand anyway even if Dick doesn’t, and Dick is swept so, so gently off of the sofa and then back down again into Bruce’s lap. 

Bruce’s arms are big, and strong, and his lap is not Dick’s mom’s, and his low murmurs are not Dick’s dad’s, and when he says _Dick_ there’s pain underneath that Dick didn’t hear growing up. But Bruce is here _now_ , and Dick is in his arms _now_ , and something inside Dick cracks open the rest of the way and all he can feel is an enormous wave of relief sweeping in to wrap around the swirling ball of hurt. He’s probably never going to stop wanting his parents, wishing he could just see them, touch them, speak to them one last time. But he’s not alone. He’s got Bruce, and Alfred, and a whole lifetime of memories he’s going to cling to with a death grip until they stop hurting again. 

And right now, he’s going to let Bruce hold him for once, and he’s going to breathe through the pain until it eases, and they’re going to watch family movies and eat ice cream that Alfred can’t complain about _too_ much while Dick is hurt, and when in an hour Bruce says _“But he’s got a broken arm, Alfred, he needs the calcium,”_ to Alfred, in defense of Dick digging into his second pint of mint chocolate chip, Dick will be able to laugh again where he’s pressed up carefully against Bruce’s side. It’s not going to ever stop hurting all the way, he doesn’t think—not if Bruce is any guide to go by. But it _is_ going to be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come chat with me on tumblr (@goldkirk) about this or the rest of the series, or just about the batfam or science or anything in general!


End file.
